


My Heart To See

by misha_anon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The raw power that Castiel displays when he's full of Heavenly wrath flips a switch inside Dean that he didn't know existed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Heart To See

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably circa season 4. I've recently become enamored with the thought of Dean being turned on by Castiel's displays of smiteyness.

The energy that surrounds Castiel in these moments is almost like a forcefield.  It’s something wild and unknowable; electric and  _sharp_  and although Dean has never heard a thunderclap in the midst of a smiting, he wouldn’t be surprised if someday he did.  The vision of Heaven’s wrath in the shape of a man brought to bear on a supernatural creature whose day is about to go from bad to worse is a wondrous sight.

It sparks something in Dean, something primal and long-dormant that leaves him staring in breathless  awe.  It’s easy to forget that Castiel isn’t human.  He sits and walks and stands beside Dean like a man; shares conversations and ideas and arguments like a man.  In moments like this, when bodies drop like empty husks with a touch of Castiel’s palm, Dean is reminded in no uncertain terms that he is anything  _but_  human.

He approaches as though Dean is a frightened animal in danger of bolting and, come to think of it, maybe he is.  Dean leans heavily against the wall behind him and closes his eyes, thankful for its support.  He never saw whatever hit him and knocked him sideways into the wall; but now, in the aftermath, with bodies scattered, his knees are unsteady at the thought of how much worse it could have been.

“ _Dean,_ look at me,” Castiel says, the urgency in his voice cutting through the ringing in Dean’s head.  “Are you hurt?”

Dean opens his eyes to see Castiel studying him with dark eyes, his brow pulled tight with worry.  When Castiel raises his hand, the electric energy that infuses his human form seems to crackle and shift and Dean shies away from the impending touch.  He’s not  _scared_  of Castiel, but something that’s locked away deep inside his mind knows that he probably should be.

Castiel moves more slowly, pressing his palm to the side of Dean’s neck.  The touch sends a jolt that makes Dean’s heart thump impossibly hard and his breath choke in his throat before he focuses and forces himself to take a deep breath.  Castiel’s thumb brushes against Dean’s cheek, a gentle touch with a still-electric undercurrent, and he asks again, more softly, “Are you  hurt?”

Before he can answer, Castiel’s palm slides upward.  His fingers move behind Dean’s ear, pressing gently as he almost cups Dean’s jaw.  The energy still pulses through Castiel, a sharpness like blood that Dean can taste as the angel checks his head for wounds.  Dean swallows the lump in his throat, unable to look away from the intensity of Castiel’s gaze.

“I’m okay, Cas,” he says finally, voice thick as his stomach does a ridiculous little flip.  “I’m not hurt.”

“Are you sure?”  Castiel’s touch lingers; his fingers curl behind Dean’s neck to caress the base of his skull until the raw power behind the touch runs under Dean’s skin like wildfire.  He tries to tell himself this isn’t the time or the place, but the way the blood thunders through his ears says differently.

Maybe he’ll never know what, exactly, possesses him to reach up and press his palm to Castiel’s jaw or to lean in for a kiss as his eyelids flutter closed.  Castiel’s breath catches at the touch, whooshes out warm and half voiced over Dean’s skin.  The first press of their lips makes Dean’s knees go weak with his entry to the otherworldly energy that Castiel’s body can’t quite contain.

His hand finds Castiel’s hip, holding tightly as he presses another kiss and then another.  When he pulls away, Castiel is staring.  Fear is the first thing Dean feels, like a fist twisting around his insides and squeezing until Castiel’s face softens.  The touch on the back of Dean’s neck, the slow circles with gentle fingertips, never stops even when Castiel asks, “What are you doing?”

Dean doesn’t answer.  Instead, he wets his lips and presses another chaste kiss to the angel’s lips.  Castiel is expecting it this time, returning the kiss in kind.   The rigidness of Castiel’s body ebbs slowly away as their lips meet again and again; when Dean pushes his luck and trails the tip of his tongue over the curve of Castiel’s lower lip, he earns a ragged gasp.  Castiel’s body shifts, pressing closer as he frames Dean’s face with both hands.

The first taste of Castiel is somehow exactly what Dean expected.  He tastes sharp and metallic and definitely not human and Dean can’t get enough.  He presses the kiss deeper, tracing over Castiel’s lip and teasing the tip of his tongue in invitation.  When Castiel finally catches on, he surges forward; palms tight on Dean’s face as their tongues slide and memorize in turn.

Then,  _something_  changes, quick and heady and suddenly the all-consuming energy of Heaven’s wrath is something completely different.  It’s warmth against Dean’s chest that’s much too warm; it’s light and love and reverence as Castiel takes his time, makes soft and very human sounds of pleasure while he tastes Dean’s lips, traces over the line of Dean’s teeth.

The sharpness is gone and Dean finds himself pushed against the wall, bathed in euphoria that buzzes down his spine and makes it hard to stay upright even as he slides his palm gently against Castiel’s jaw, pulling the kiss deeper.  It feels like hours later that he pulls away from Castiel’s lips reluctantly, his breath shallow and ragged, tight in his chest.  

When Dean opens his eyes, Castiel is watching him again, wide-eyed.  His cheeks are stained pink as he breathes in and out again, slow but shaky.  Dean clears his throat to speak, but can’t find any words that will do as the pads of Castiel’s thumbs trace the curve of his cheekbones.  When Dean finally gives up and leans his head back against the wall to ease the lightheadedness that’s settled in the wake of Castiel’s touch, he sees something he’s never seen before.  

Just above Castiel’s dark, messy hair and wreathed in a soft golden light, Dean would almost swear he sees the outline of a  _halo_.


End file.
